Where Would You Be
by MinervaDeannaBond
Summary: When Bond is brutally wounded during a mission, M fights to save him, causing him to flash back to Skyfall... and wonder where he would be without her. Post-Skyfall and plenty of 00M goodness.
1. Blood and Rain

This was originally intended to be a one-shot, but as I neared the end, I realized it would work better as a multi-chapter story. Set sometime after _Skyfall, _Bond is wounded on a mission and M, who survived, is the only one who can save him.

For RebaForever15 - your story "I Still Believe In You" was my inspiration for this one, as was a favorite song of mine. Love ya!

* * *

It was raining in London. What else was bloody new?

For the well-kept, well-to-do residents of a small Chelsea square, the sight of a battered, bleeding man slogging through the rain to the door of one of the immaculate flats was definitely out of the ordinary, but for James Bond, it was just another day at the office. _Boy meets girl, girl stabs boy, boy drags himself home with a gaping wound in his chest because he's too proud to go to the hospital. Story of my life. _Ignoring the searing pain that pierced every pore of his skin, Bond dug out his keys, unlocked the door, and let himself into his flat. He stumbled through the living room and shook himself like a wet dog, spraying water and blood everywhere. Looking where he came, he noticed that a sticky red trail led from the front door to where he was currently standing. So the place looked like Jack the Ripper had been through it. Big ruddy deal. If he had to choose between keeping the flat clean and keeping himself alive, one could bet their bum that he was going with the latter option.

Grunting with every spasm of pain that wracked his body, Bond peeled off his suit jacket and let it fall to the floor, then gingerly touched the hole in his shirt. He bit his tongue as a cry flew up his throat, for even the slightest touch hurt like Hades and blood seeped through his fingers like water. _Dear God, help me, _he prayed silently, feeling his head start to spin. _I know you and I have never been on the best terms, but if you can spare a miracle for me right now, I swear I'll be grateful for the rest of my life… however long that may be._

"You don't have the sense God gave a goose, 007."

Bond nearly jumped out of his sopping skin. His eyes frantically darting from one end of the room to the next, they finally landed on a small figure seated in his favorite chair, but his body relaxed immediately (as well as it could, given the circumstances). What stunned him so was not the fact that he didn't recognize her – the instant she'd spoken, he'd known who she was – but the fact that she was here in the first place. "Blimey. What are you doing here?"

"Watching you leak like a sieve, apparently," she replied without a single trace of humor in her voice. "When you didn't call after the mission ended, I got worried."

Bond reached for the switch on the wall and flipped it on. M was dressed in a smart black suit with an emerald blouse beneath; a matching scarf was draped around her neck. Her silver brows were drawn together in their trademark glare, but her deep blue eyes radiated nothing but concern as they roved over his blood-sodden form. "Noted and appreciated, but with all due respect, isn't this situation typically reversed? I'm usually the one who does the breaking and entering and you're the one who's ready with the pithy comebacks."

"I thought I'd put myself in your shoes for once."

"You couldn't wear my shoes; they're 44's. You'd look like a clown."

"Fitting, considering that I'm already the ringmaster of the biggest lot of clowns in the United Kingdom."

"Better that than the bearded lady."

"Luckily for you, I shaved this morning."

Bond barked a laugh that morphed into a hoarse cry of pain as his hand flew back to his chest and he collapsed to his knees in agony. Just before his eyes squeezed shut against the paroxysms, he saw M leap from her chair and run over to him; he felt her arms come around him just before he hit the floor. "That's it, Bond; I'm taking you to the hospital."

"No! Not the hospital!" Bond cried emphatically, although anguish burned his chest with the strain of shouting. "Don't take me to the hospital!"

"Bond, you're bleeding out and your face is grayer than ashes. I'm bloody well not going to sit here and watch you die in my arms!"

Despite the pain crowding his vision, Bond opened his eyes and saw M's face hovering before his, one arm supporting his back and the other holding his head against her heart. Her words were those of the chief of MI6, but her lower lip was trembling and her eyes were brimming with unshed tears. _This is familiar. Way too familiar… _

_A freezing Scottish night. A dusky chapel illuminated by the flames of a burning manor. A mortal enemy's body lying dead nearby, a knife in his back. And the only woman he'd ever truly loved dying in his arms while tears poured unbidden down his face, wondering where he'd be without her…_

"M… I…"

"Bond? James, hold on!"

Those were the last words Bond heard before he slipped into the black realm of unconsciousness.


	2. Keep Breathing

My thanks to everyone who's read and responded so far - your feedback always means the world to me!

* * *

His eyes felt like deadweights as he struggled to open them. When he finally did will them to open, he squeezed them shut again as harsh fluorescent light assaulted them. He was vaguely aware that he was moving on a rolling something and he could hear voices, male and female, talking over each other urgently, but he might as well have been underwater for all he heard. Then, all of a sudden, one voice pierced his ears with astonishing clarity – the voice that always got to him, no matter what the circumstances.

"Bond? Bond, can you hear me?"

His eyes fluttered again and he caught a fleeting, blurry glimpse of her face. "M?"

"Yes, Bond, I'm here," she said, and Bond was aware of her hand slipping into his. "Thank God you're awake; I thought we'd lost you."

Ignoring the pain shooting through his body with every movement, Bond shook his head from side to side. "You… never lose me," he managed to croak out, his own voice sounding hoarse and unrecognizable to his ears. Every breath he took felt like a fire searing across his chest all the way down to his legs. "Hard… breathe…"

He felt M's hand squeeze his. "Listen to me, Bond. Keep breathing. No matter how hard it is, keep breathing. I'm giving you this order because I know you're too stubborn to give up and that even though you'd rather do cartwheels in your shorts than admit it, you'll do anything for me. Do this for me, Bond. _Keep breathing. _I need you."

With every bit of strength his failing body could muster, Bond worked his face into a weak smile. "Where'd… be… wi'out… you?" He managed to squeeze M's hand in return before their hands slipped out of each other's grasp and black oblivion claimed him yet again.

* * *

Clutching her hand to her heart, M stared after Bond as the trauma surgeons wheeled him away to the ER. Despite his convoluted, slurred speech, she'd understood his question as clear as day: _Where would I be without you? _She'd heard the care in his voice beyond the hoarse shroud of pain and delirium that smothered it, but she'd also heard something else, felt something else when he smiled at her. _Does he really care for me that much, in that way? Don't be stupid, Barbara. Why on earth would a beautiful man like that give an old woman like you the time of day? You're just worried about him and it's addling your brain. _Yet M couldn't help but wonder if she was lying to herself, especially when she felt her heart skip a beat or two beneath her fingers.

"Ma'am?"

M jumped when another voice intruded upon her thoughts. Turning on the spot, she saw a young nurse standing next to her. "Yes?"

The young woman's brown eyes were compassionate, yet her facial expression remained neutral, for which M was grateful. Too many times had she been bestowed with false, hollow, or overly soppy smiles during a time of distress, so to be the recipient of a calming presence was a welcome change. "I'm sorry, but you'll have to come with me to the waiting room. We need to ask you a few questions about the patient."

"What? Oh, yes… yes, of course," M replied absent-mindedly, barely aware that she was now following the nurse down the hospital corridor. On the way, she sent up a fervent prayer for Bond. _Lord, watch over Bond. Guide the hands of the surgeons as you work your healing power through them. He asked me where he'd be without me, but the truth is, I don't know where I'd be without him. Please… keep him breathing. Keep him alive._


	3. Abide With Me

M is now being asked a few questions, and all she can do is pray for a miracle.

* * *

"I'm just going to ask you some standard questions, all right?"

M eyed the young nurse warily, wondering if this was how Bond felt during his disastrous word association test: edgy, tense, and defensive. Unfortunately, all she could do at the present was put on her diplomatic face and keep herself from biting someone's head off. "All right."

The nurse nodded and poised a pen above her clipboard, ready to fill out the forms. "What is the name of the patient?"

"Commander James Andrew Bond."

"His age?"

"44."

"Approximate height and weight?"

"About 5'10'' and 78 kilograms."

"Blood type?"

"A-positive."

"Marital status?"

"Why do you need to know that?"

The nurse jumped and shrank back at the sharp rebuke; M hadn't realized how catty she sounded until she saw the look on the young woman's face. "If he's married, his wife is going to want a report, that's all."

"Oh." Of course; it was just SOP, like always. M immediately felt guilty for jumping to conclusions, as well as for feeling jealous, of all things. "Single."

"Any next of kin?"

"No," M said, her heart aching for the orphaned boy inside the powerful man. "He's an only child, and both his parents are deceased."

The nurse nodded, her pen flashing as she wrote. "And what about you? What's your relationship to Mr. Bond?"

That threw M for a heartbeat. How could she even begin to characterize her complex relationship with the equally complex James Bond? "I'm his boss," she finally stated, hating how utterly hollow that sounded.

"And your name?"

"M."

"Is that short for anything? Emma or Emily?"

"No, just M, the letter M."

The nurse's pen halted on the page. "I'm afraid I can't accept that, ma'am. We need full names for our records."

M folded her arms under her breasts, irritation flaring at the absurdity and tedium of the whole stinking ordeal. "And _I _can't accept my name in anyone else's records, because someone will find it out and find me in the process."

"Why the secrecy? Do you have something to hide?" the nurse asked with a little laugh, but the steel in M's eyes quickly put a sock in her mouth.

"Yes, I do. I'm the head of MI6, so I bloody well have everything to hide. But if you really want the security of the entire country jeopardized, I'll be more than happy to give you my name, address, and credit card numbers on top of it."

Those big brown eyes blinked again as the nurse regarded M with some apprehension, as though waiting for her to lash out again. "I'm sorry… I had no idea. I hope you'll forgive me for being so insensitive."

"No, it's all right," M said, massaging her forehead. "You wouldn't have had any way of knowing. I'm the one who ought to be asking forgiveness, not you."

"I get this all the time, ma'am. When somebody is in danger of losing a loved one, emotions flare and tempers run high. I get calm facades, spiky diatribes, and enough tears to fill the Thames twice over, so believe me when I say I've seen it all. I'm never in any place to offer anyone any advice, and I'm not going to tell you that everything's going to be all right when the situation is grim. But I will leave you with three words: abide with me."

"What do you mean?" M asked, confused.

The nurse offered a gentle smile. "It's an old hymn I learned from my grandmother. She was a nurse before me and she often sang it to the patients to comfort them if they were sick, injured, or in pain. She told me once that she made it into a prayer whenever she was feeling the same. If you know it, try singing it to yourself." She rose from her seat and tucked her clipboard under her arm. "I'll leave you alone now. I promise we'll do everything we can to save Mr. Bond."

M felt tears prick her eyes, but blinked them away before reaching out to touch the nurse's arm in gratitude. "Thank you. I can't tell you how much that means to me."

The nurse inclined her head briefly and departed for the ER, leaving M to ponder the title of the hymn. "Abide With Me." She had heard it numerous times before; grew up singing it in church when she was a girl. Just thinking of the title gave M reason to wonder why the nurse had recommended that particular hymn in the first place – and raised several other titles in response. "It Is Well With My Soul" – not a fitting one considering the hell her soul was currently going through. "Amazing Grace" – more of a joyful one, although M was praying for some amazing grace to save Bond right now. "All Things Bright and Beautiful" – no, things were definitely _not _bright and beautiful at the present. Rain was pouring out of the heavens in torrents, lashing the windows at the urging of the howling wind. Evening had long given way to night, shrouding London in a black haze. And M's mood more than adequately matched the weather: black, bleary, and wet, as the sky seemed to be shedding the tears that she was unwilling to let go of.

"Abide With Me." Eventide had indeed fallen and the atmosphere was blacker than black, and it seemed like everything and everyone had indeed deserted M, deserted Bond. _Have you? _M asked, casting her eyes heavenward. _You said you'd always be with us, even to the end of the age. Be with James now. Be with me, please…_

_Abide with me; fast falls the eventide  
__The darkness deepens; Lord, with me abide  
__When other helpers fail and comforts flee  
__Help of the helpless, O abide with me_

Tears hit the linoleum of the hospital floor, and M gave a great sniff as she wiped them away from her eyes, her voice growing huskier and fracturing more with every line of the hymn as she sang. "You have to save him," she said aloud, not caring who heard her. "You know what it's like to lose someone; you lost your own Son. And he came back to you. Please, God, bring James back to me. I don't know where I'd be without him…"

* * *

"What's going on?"

"Oh no, he's crashing!"

"Quick, get the defibrillator! We have to save him or he'll be dead in two minutes!"

Pandemonium broke out in the emergency room and surgeons and nurses alike rushed to grab the defibrillator, blood, anything they could to save their patient before it was too late. James Bond's vital signs had crashed.

In the twinkling of an eye, the doctors had attached the leads to Bond's chest and were waiting for it to charge, all keeping their fingers crossed. Finally, the meter read full and they released a jolt of electricity into Bond's body…

Just as the heart monitor flatlined.


End file.
